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“Tell you what,” Mom said. “You choose what we do tomorrow, and we’ll do it whether it rains or shines.”
    “Maybe we could go swimming?” I said, putting my shoe back on and wiping the sandy grains on my sleeve.
    “Grand idea,” Dad said, shuffling the tiles on his rack. “If it’s raining, anyway. I imagine you’ll want to get out and about if it’s sunny, won’t you?”
    “I guess so,” I said. So much for doing whatever I wanted, rain or shine.
    To be honest, what I really wanted was to find out where Robyn lived and see if she was all right. I kept thinking about the way her dad had dragged her out of the pottery shop, how angry he’d been. It made anything embarrassing my parents had ever done seem like small fry.
    I wondered if I’d get to see her again while we were here, or if he’d keep her trapped at home for the rest of the week.
    As I thought about it and waited for my turn, I snuggled into my chair. The fire was roaring now — so cozy and warm. I closed my eyes. Just for a second. Just to rest my eyelids.
    Next thing I knew, I was dreaming. We were playing Scrabble, but the board had disappeared. I had lots of letters on my rack, but as I watched them, they flew off the rack and started spinning around. They were forming a word.
    W-I-N-D-O-W.
    I started adding up how many points I’d get for it. Two
W
s. Didn’t they score four points each?
    Then more letters came out of nowhere, spinning around my bed.
    O-P-E-N.
    Before I had a chance to see what the rest of the tiles said, Mom was shaking my shoulder.
    I jolted awake. “Sorry!” I said, straightening myself up in my chair. I looked at my tiles. No
W
s. No good letters at all, in fact.
    “Come on, dreamer, it’s your turn,” Dad said, adding
BE
to the
E
from Mom’s word.
“Bee!”
he announced. “Five points!” Then he raised his fist like a champion. “Oh, yes! Beat that if you can!”
    Mom laughed. “It’s going to be a long game,” she said.

    Going up to bed that night, a quiver ran through me. What if I had another nightmare? I looked at the bed and remembered tossing and turning half the night, the panic and sorrow I’d felt in my sleep. I didn’t want to go through all that again.
    I read a book until my eyes were so tired the words blurred into black smudges on the page. Switching off the light, I lay looking up at the ceiling, at the feathered charm dangling above me, the shard of glass still lodged in its middle, glinting and winking every now and then as it slowly turned above my head. It was like a hypnotist’s pendant waving in front of my eyes, emptying my mind and luring me into a heavy, sleepy state. “You are in my power. . . .”
    Soon I couldn’t keep my eyes open, and I felt myself drift off to sleep.
    So many stairs. How long have I been climbing them? How many are there?
    One, two, three . . . six, seven . . . thirteen, fourteen. Have I missed any? There are still so many to go. I keep climbing, and with each step my heart grows heavier.
    I can see the room ahead. The door. The light shining from underneath. I’ve got to get to the light. She’s inside. I can see her. My chest heaves with desperation — I can’t explain it, don’t understand it. All I know is that the feeling of total aloneness is taking me over, and the only way I’ll ever feel better is if I can get to the light, somehow get beyond the door, find her. How can I get the door open? I have to get inside. Please, please let me in!
    The light’s fading.
    No! Don’t fade — don’t go!
    PLEASE!!
    I woke up crying silently, my body shaking in the darkness, the feeling of grief and loneliness so fierce it was almost a physical pain.
    What on earth was the matter with me? OK, so I’d lost two best friends this year, and I didn’t have anyone to replace them — yet. But I would soon. I’d met lots of new girls this semester. Sooner or later, I’d become best friends with one of them. Things weren’t that awful. Certainly